


most of us strangers

by sleepinnude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baby Claire Novak, COVID-19, Castiel is Claire Novak's Parent, EMT Dean Winchester, Gen, M/M, Quarantine, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Single Parent Castiel (Supernatural), and they were zoommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: It's hard to tell in the array of little video tiles on Zoom, but Sam is pretty sure that Cas and Dean are looking at each other, smiling at each other.[the "and they were zoommates!" au that no one asked for]
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 86
Kudos: 316





	1. Meet Who I'm Quarantined With and other corporate compulsions

**Author's Note:**

> i saw [this post](https://chambergambit.tumblr.com/post/613768616600551424) and kinda ran with it. this isn't quite what that post suggests, but it's definitely inspired by that post so thanks!
> 
> title is from ilya kaminsky's "as soldiers march, alfonso covers the boy’s face with a newspaper" which isn't really relevant but i keep finding myself thinking of _deaf republic_ in these times.

Sam likes his boss, generally. Rowena is smart and sarcastic and always seems to go to bat for them with the higher-ups. Except she’s a bit of a gossip, which means she’s gone full-speed on all the dumb “team building during quarantine” initiatives that the company has been suggesting. So this morning’s huddle finds Sam reciting “hello”s and “nice to meet you”s to all of his team’s family members, or roommates, or dogs, or cats (or, in Kevin’s case, lizard). Because this morning is Meet Who I’m Quarantined With.

“Well, it’s just me and Claire,” Castiel is saying as Sam finally pulls his attention from the frankly terrifying dog that Meg is making kissy-faces at. They all more or less abandoned the pretense of getting into real clothes for these Zoom meetings days ago, but Castiel’s bedhead is truly a sight -- Sam thought it was bad in the office, but Castiel’s home look is something else.

“Bring the wee one up then!” Rowena insists, clapping her hands. Her teenage son has long-since rolled his eyes and abandoned the frame.  
Castiel winces into a smile and ducks out of frame. A moment later, he reappears holding a toddler with wild blonde curls and the biggest blue eyes Sam had ever seen. A roll of “aw”s spirals through the mics, Sam’s included.

“Can she talk yet?” Donna asks, looking like she wants to reach through the screen and steal the baby away.

“Yes...” Castiel pries his daughter’s attention from the video tiles across the computer screen. “Claire, how old are you going to be?”

“Three!” comes the delighted, triumphant answer, complete with three fingers held up and a toothy grin. Another round of cooing comes through.

The door to the apartment slams, signalling that Dean is home from his overnight shift -- perfect timing. “Hey, Dean, come here a minute,” Sam calls behind him and then, to the computer, announces, “I’m here with my brother, who’s an EMT. He’s just back from an overnight shift.”

The water in their kitchen sink runs (handwashing before “hello”s in this new normal) and a minute later Dean comes into frame, all dark blue uniform and quizzical look on his face. His hair is mussed -- too long, and sent every which way from the straps of his PPE. That isn’t the only mark of the gear. Like always, Sam has to swallow back a cringe at the red, irritated skin along Dean’s forehead, nose and cheeks. The line along his forehead looks angrier than usual and Sam thinks it might have broken the skin finally.

Immediately, the slightly staticky sound of applause breaks out from Sam’s computer. Dean comes closer, confused, and, once he catches on to what’s happening, ducks his head a little. Sam turns back to grin something proud at his brother and sees Dean sheepishly carding a hand through his hair. Normally, Sam takes any opportunity to get on his brother’s ass for playing hero, but not today, not now. Not when Dean literally is a hero, running into the frontlines every day, without complaint.

“Hey, thanks,” Dean intones quietly, only just captured by Sam’s mic. His hand is gentle at Sam’s shoulder and Sam expects his brother to slip away -- shower and fall into bed like he usually does after the overnights. But he stays a minute, crouched down to peer into the screen.

Rowena is talking about frontline workers, lines that have become standard if no less heartfelt over the past month and a half, but Sam watches as Dean’s attention drifts. He sees two pairs of big blue eyes riveted on Dean, it seems, and then sees Dean cross his eyes and blow out his cheeks. Rowena’s words are cut off by a screeching laugh from Claire, her hands clapping excitedly. Sam can’t help but smile and shake his head. But he doesn’t miss the grin that passes over Castiel’s face.

“You didn’t tell me you work with such a pretty lady, Sammy,” Dean flirts.

Sam does roll his eyes at his brother, then, gives him a shove. “All right. She’s a little young for you, don’t you think?”

Castiel has his head down, smiling at his daughter and most of the others on the call are laughing because Dean is charming, even if Sam hates to admit it.

Dean laughs, shoulders loose, and messes up Sam’s hair. “I’ll let you all get back to work. Gonna catch a couple hours of sleep.” Sam nods and Dean shoots a salute and a smile off to the webcam before disappearing into the apartment.

“Samuel! What a brother you have there!” Rowena exclaims.

Sam rolls his eyes but he’s smiling and there’s no room for anything but pride in his chest. “Yeah, Dean’s pretty great.”

And he doesn’t miss the way Cas repeats the name, too quietly for his mic to pick up, “Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter! - sam & cas have a private zoom meeting and wow, gee, dean just happens to be around.  
> 
> 
> [rebloggable link on tumblr!](https://sweatercas.tumblr.com/post/615846524665167872/most-of-us-strangers-chapter-13)


	2. The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross and other ways to occupy a two-year-old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture quality isn’t great over these video calls but Sam is pretty sure a delicate blush falls over Cas’s cheeks.

Sam and Cas really do have to get together to get things finalized on their grant. It’s just that they probably could have gotten everything done with just the chat feature on the google doc. They didn’t strictly need to be on a video chat as they hashed things out, but Sam could hear Dean just waking up and he is a Good Little Brother so he makes some excuse about human connection and it being easier to talk things out. Cas obliges without much fuss, luckily. A minute later and Sam has half his screen taken up by the document, the other half full of Castiel’s focused expression. In the background, Sam can hear the cheery music of some television show.

“Dude, is that Bob Ross?”

Sam turns to find a tousled, sleepy-looking Dean peering blearily at his computer screen. Raising an eyebrow, Sam gestures, “No… This is my coworker, Castiel.”

Dean rolls his eyes before scrubbing a hand down his face. “Obviously, Sammy. I meant the music. The theme song.”

Before Sam can say anything, the tinny sound of Castiel laughing over their connections cuts through. “It is, yes. He enthralls Claire, luckily.”

Sam grins because that’s fucking adorable and Castiel tilts his computer screen. There’s a blur as the connection lags and then they can see Claire curled up on a child-sized bean-bag chair just behind Castiel. She has some kind of stuffed cat in one arm, a snack bar of some kind clutched in the other hand, and her eyes are locked on the television screen where the one and only Bob Ross is listing off all the paint colors he’ll be using that episode.

“Hey, she’s got good taste.” Dean is right over Sam’s shoulder then, grinning into the screen as Cas’s connection tilts again, showing the man once more. “I watch his stuff when I can’t sleep. Something about his voice puts me right out.”

“He is very soothing,” Cas agrees. “I often use him to help her take a nap as well.”

Sam is pretty sure he didn’t even know Cas was a single father until they had been working together for, like, five months and now he knows the kid’s pre-nap routine.

“I’ll bet that’s especially useful when you gotta keep her occupied in quarantine,” Sam says, mentally shuddering at the thought of having a two-year old running around with no help and still having to get work done.

“Yes,” Cas says, eyebrows up. “Arts and crafts and the bubble machine can only hold her attention for so long, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, you used to love bubbles,” Dean says brightly, shoving a little at Sam’s shoulder. And, because Sam’s a little brother, he shoved back. Dean just leans into it. “Bubbles, and fireworks, and sidewalk chalk.”

Castiel’s smile hitches up several watts and Sam can see that Dean is basking in it. “Sidewalk chalk…” Cas says with a little nod. “There’s some buried in some closet. I’ll be sure to try that with Claire tomorrow.”

“If she’s getting anything from Bob Ross, I’m sure she’ll make a masterpiece,” Dean says and Sam can practically see the hearts in his eyes. He scrubs at his face then and stifles a yawn and makes some excuse about showering, about letting Sam and Cas get back to work.

Dean paces off toward the bathroom and Sam shakes his head, realizes that they’ve wasted a good ten minutes with this. “Sorry about that,” Sam says, offering a sheepish grin across to Cas.

“Not at all,” Castiel replies and he’s still smiling but he has his face tilted down and yes, Sam is an _Award-Winning_ Good Little Brother.

*

They’re scanning through the last paragraph of the document silently, practically finished, when Castiel’s mic activates and a soft, disembodied voice begs, “Daddy, up please.”

Sam’s heart grows nine sizes as he watches Castiel’s face soften into a smile and then Claire is in his lap. Her blonde curls are gone wild, not unlike Castiel’s wreck of hair. She squints suspiciously at the computer a minute before turning her face into Cas’s chest and going slack. “Hey, man, if you gotta put her down or whatever, I can finish up. We’re basically done here.”

Cas looks torn for a moment but a wordless whine from Claire seals the deal. He sighs and shoots a grateful smile across the connection. He has one hand raised, cupped around the back of Claire’s head. “Yes, that might be best, if you don’t mind. Thank you, Sam.”

“Dean, wanna come say goodbye to your girlfriend?” Sam calls.

Picture quality isn’t great over these video calls but he’s pretty sure a delicate blush falls over Cas’s cheeks. Before Sam has time to congratulate himself, Dean is appearing in the frame. He’s been knocking around between the kitchen and his bedroom while Sam and Cas worked, doing a good job of staying out of the way. There's a small band-aid above his right eyebrow -- apparently his PPE finally broke the skin after all. But the smile he has for Cas is uninhibited, eyes crinkling up.

“Looks like Bob Ross worked, huh?” And Sam’s loud, obnoxious, big, big brother has his voice pitched soft, so as not to disturb the drowsy little girl.

“Indeed,” Cas comments. He shifts and that’s enough to stir Claire. She looks up at her father and whines again, then passes a look to the computer. Her eyes snap open wider and she gives a subdued little giggle. Pointing to the screen, she puffs her cheeks out wide -- just as Dean had that morning.

“Hey, look at that, she remembers me,” Dean jokes, real warmth flooding his voice. He mimics the face back at Claire and then gives a wave.

Claire waves back before turning her face back into Cas’s neck. “Thank you, again, Sam. I’ll talk to you soon,” Cas says, reaching forward to end the call. “And goodbye, Dean. Stay safe.” The screen goes black, connection empty, and Sam tilts his face up to his brother’s.

Dean blinks, a little like coming awake, and then shoots his brother a look. “What?” he asks, defensive already. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.”

Dean rolls his eyes and shoves off to collapse on the couch further in the living room. “Whatever. You still have three hours on the clock,” he taunts.

Sam sighs (because Dean is right and without the prospect of playing matchmaker, the rest of the day seems bleak) and hunkers down to finish the grant he and Cas combed through.

*

Dean has two days off, thankfully, (usually in these rounds Dean eventually ends up with four consecutive days off but, well, everything is changing with this virus) which means that they don’t have to worry about bedtimes. Sam will sacrifice a few hours of his own sleep if it means he gets to stay up late, drink some beers and tune into Netflix with his brother. Dean rolls his eyes anytime anyone says that he’s risking his life to do his job but Sam is acutely aware of the dangers. And even without that, he can still see the toll their new life takes on Dean -- the hours, the patients, the deaths, the lack of all resources. If Sam can give him a little bit of a good time, a few hours on the couch, he’s damn well gonna do it.

Tonight, there’s something on Dean’s mind. Sam can tell by the way he keeps picking at the label of his beer, the way he drifts in and out of paying attention to the line-up of Gourmet Makes videos they have queued up (Dean threatens once a week to quit his job and apply for the BA Test Kitchen and Sam would roll his eyes if he didn’t think they would definitely hire his brother).

It’s the fifth time that Sam catches Dean smiling absently down at his beer that he finally has enough. He clears his throat unnecessarily and then ventures, “You and Claire sure hit it off.”

Dean gets caught between pretending to have been engrossed in the attempt to make Peeps on screen and pretending not to know what Sam is talking about before eventually giving up both. He laughs and nods. “She’s a cute little thing. Good taste in PBS programming.”

Sam waits and, once it’s clear his brother isn’t going to go any further, adds, “Yeah. Cas is a good guy too.”

Dean takes a pull from his beer, watches the chef have a minor existential breakdown for a minute. “He been working with you long?” he asks finally.  
Sam mentally pumps his fist in triumph but does his best to remain neutral outward. “Little over a year, I think? I don’t know him too well, to be honest. Actually, I think I learned more about him today then I have the whole time I’ve known him.” His eyes cut to his brother and he finds Dean looking at him. “You know, when he was talking to you.”

Dean lets that one fly by without so much as a swat. “So he’s a private guy, then?”

“Usually, yeah. Didn’t know he had a single father till, like, six months in.” All right, maybe that was a little too pointed, but Sam knew his brother, repression and all, too well.

“Oh yeah? So it really is just him and Claire? That’s gotta be tough.”

Sam nods and lets his brother take that in a moment. How long has it been since Dean had a real date, let alone a relationship? Had there even been anyone since Benny? Sam tracks back, before Benny was Lisa, and then Cassie, but that was when Dean was a kid. And it’s been… Has it really been five years since Dean and Benny split?

Sam swallows past the familiar, brotherly worry and brings up an annoying smile. “Makes you glad you got me as a quarantine buddy, huh?”  
Dean doesn’t rise to the bait, instead slings a smile across the couch. “Yeah, I guess it does. Worse people to be stuck with then my pain-in-the-ass little brother.”

*

“Sam!” Dean wanders into the living room late the next morning, eyes on his phone. There’s an odd look on his face -- like he’s puzzled and pleased at the same time. Sam can’t contain his glee, but Dean doesn’t notice; he’s too fixated on his phone. “Did you… Did you give Cas my number?”

Sam could go for coy and innocent, act as if it’s no big deal. But this whole situation is kind of ridiculous so why bother being subtle? He just grins big and nods. “He messaged me to say that Claire went crazy for the sidewalk chalk and asked if I would thank you for the suggestion. So I told him that he could thank you himself and gave him your number.”

There’s a moment of silence that stretches as Dean just nods, still looking at his phone.

Sam breaks it with a leading, “You’re welcome.”

“Dude. Shut up,” is Dean’s brilliant retort. “He sent a picture, too, look.” Dean holds out his phone and Sam can see a beaming Claire on hands in knees in what appears to be a pavement driveway. There are bright patches of color all around her, broken up by bold block letters spelling out CLAIRE and DADDY. There’s a drawing of a bee and one of a frog that are a bit too well done to have been the work of an almost-three-year-old.

“That’s so cute I wanna puke rainbows,” Sam says.

He watches at Dean turns back to his phone, some stupid little smile on his face. His brother turns like he’s heading for the kitchen but stops after a few paces. “I… What should I write back?”

Sam breaks into laughter, shaking his head. “This is not that chick flick, man. Figure out how to flirt on your own.”

A second later and one of the throw pillows connects with Sam’s head, but he decides it’s worth it.

It’s definitely worth it when they’re eating dinner (stir fry and mashed potatoes and ravioli, because they’re going through left-overs and freezer food before hitting the store again) and every few minutes, Dean peers at his phone, grins, and taps out a response.

It’s not until after dinner, when they’re idly making their way through Indiana Jones (Raiders, for at least the ninth time), that Sam brings it up. “Is that Jo?” he asks as Dean writes out another text -- he’s well aware it’s not his brother’s partner. (For one, Jo is the mythical millennial who prefers talking on the phone to texting. For another, Sam has heard her say, very seriously, “I spend forty-eight hours straight with your ass, Winchester. I don’t need to talk to you on our hours off.”)

Dean looks up, blinks thoughtfully, and then answers, “No. It’s Cas, actually.” He kicks out one leg and it catches Sam’s legs, sprawled between them on the couch. “Turns out I can figure out how to flirt on my own.”

“Hey, if you guys are gonna end up having Skype sex, just let me know in advance so I can order some noise-canceling headphones.”

That’s enough to prompt Dean to lunge for him and they end up tussling for a minute, long enough that they both end up on the floor, narrowly missing the coffee table. Once they’re on their feet, they both decide to call it a night -- Dean’s back to work in the afternoon. Sam watches his brother when they split to their separate rooms in the hallway and he can just see the glow of his phone cast against his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so my original plan was to have next chapter be the last & for it to be the goobs post-quarantine. but then i was thinking instead i could bump up to 4 total chapters, with the next one featuring some cute How to Flirt When You're Quarantined Apart? let me know in comments if you have a preference!
> 
> [rebloggable link on tumblr!](https://sweatercas.tumblr.com/post/615952922117799936/most-of-us-strangers-chapter-2-the-joy-of)


	3. How to Flirt While Quarantined Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas get closer despite social distancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i am not a healthcare/essential worker! i tried not to misrepresent any of them, or come off as too preachy. the opinions that dean expresses are ones that i've heard from family members who are nurses, or ones that i've read in interviews. if you feel i've misrepresented anything/gotten anything wrong, please let me know!

At first, Dean is pretty sure it’s just the novelty of talking to someone new. This strange new world they’ve all found themselves in mostly means monotony. His job, once his pride and joy, has become tight and choked over with stress, with the added weight of the whole damn country calling them heroes and the people he treats look less like people and more like patients every day.

So, at first, it’s nice to just talk to someone who isn’t Jo, or Bobby, or Sam. Cas is smart and funny and sincere in a way that Dean hasn’t ever really encountered. And he hasn’t once thanked Dean for his heroic work or whatever, so that’s a plus. They text rampantly that first day and then it gradually becomes more casual through the next two weeks.

Dean asks how Claire is doing and suggests activities to keep her occupied. Cas asks if Dean is getting enough sleep and how the dinner adventures (he and Sammy are starting to get real creative with their food) are going. They both start watching some stupid reality show on Netflix and text theories and commentary back and forth. 

It’s nice. They’re not exactly flirting, but there’s this understanding of attraction woven beneath their conversations. An unspoken _I like you_. If this were weeks ago, Dean would have definitely asked Cas out by now but he’s not exactly sure how that works with...everything.

All he really knows is that he stays up too late texting Cas and one of the first things he does when he wakes up is text back. Cas has been added to his daily round of idle wondering: How’s Jo doing with her mom? Does Bobby need anything? Is Sammy driving himself insane? What would help Cas and Claire?

Sam makes fun of him one evening, maybe a month into things, because of the face he apparently makes when a text from Cas comes in. Dean throws a pillow at his brother but even he can tell that he’s smiling wide.

*

Dean is knocking around in his locker, trying to wake up enough for the drive home, when a text comes through from Cas. It’s a picture, and he swipes through to find a brightly smiling Claire, proudly holding a stone up to the camera. The stone is mostly round if a little lopsided, with a patch of moss across one side. The accompanying text message reads: “Claire decided this rock reminded her of you and demanded I send you a picture. It seems to make her happy, so I’d take it as a compliment.”

Dean does and it’s not until Jo intentionally jostles against his shoulder that he realizes he’s been smiling down at his phone for a full minute. He looks up and casts a wary look at his partner before pocketing his phone and closing his locker.

Jo is still smiling at him when he turns to tell her good-bye.

“What?” he asks, playing at irritable.

“It’s nice to see you happy,” Jo says without pretense.

Dean must be blushing at that but he just shoves a hand through the back of his hair. “Shut up,” he mutters. Jo takes it in the spirit it’s intended, though, her laughter following him as he leaves.

Sitting in the car, Dean taps out a response to Cas, thanking him for sending the picture and asking him to thank Claire for thinking of him. Before he can even put his phone away and start the car, a response from Cas comes through.

“Congratulations on making it through another shift.” There’s an emoji of a happy face blowing a party horn as well and it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but it makes Dean smile at his phone for another full minute.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks to himself pulling out of the parking lot, _I’ve got it bad._

*

It’s early in the afternoon on a day off when Dean receives a text from Cas asking what he’s doing and whether he has a moment to Facetime. “Claire would like to show you something” is the only explanation he gets, complete with, inexplicably, a bird emoji.

Cas is at the kitchen table when Dean accepts the Facetime request, Claire in his lap. The girl has a dab of what appears to be peanut butter on her cheek.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greets calmly, with a soft smile. Dean feels something warm swell just beneath his chest. “Claire, would you like to show Dean what you made?”

Claire lets out an excited howl and then raises what appears to be a pinecone, hanging from a string. It’s covered in bird-seed. “Bird feeders!” Claire declares happily.

“More likely squirrel feeders,” Cas comments with a grin. 

“That’s so great,” Dean says, exaggerating his exuberance for Claire’s sake. “Gonna hang ‘em outside, Claire-bear? Make sure you put ‘em by a window, so you can watch when the birds come to eat.”

“Daddy, can we?” Claire asks, twisting to check with her father.

“Of course,” Cas answers. While Claire is facing him, he thumbs away the errant pat of peanut butter on her face. She squirms at that and then wiggles down from her father’s lap. Dean can hear her fading voice debating on which window would be better.

“Thank you, for the suggestion,” Cas says, once it’s just the two of them. “She especially liked going on the hunt for the pine cone this morning. Apparently we were also looking for buried treasure.”

Dean smiles broadly at that, easily remembering all the times Sam’s imagination ran wild. “And did you find any?”

“My pockets were filled with stones and wildflowers by the end of it, so I’d say so.”

“Any more of those stones remind her of me?” Dean needles, grinning broadly.

Cas smiles back and for a moment it’s just that, them smiling at one another. “No, I’m sorry. She did ask about whether you might be a pirate, though.”

Dean screws his face up a little and shakes his head. “Hope you set her straight on that.”

“Of course,” Cas responds placidly. In the background there’s a call of “Daddy!” and he gives Dean a wry smile. “I suppose that’s my cue to go.”

“Got a busy day?” Dean asks before he can hang up.

“Relatively normal. Are you still planning to start that documentary tonight?”

“Dude. Tiger King. Yes, absolutely.”

Cas smiles again, luminous, and Dean is a medical professional so he knows it’s not possible but it feels like his heart skips. “I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it.”

It’s late when Dean calls Cas but he doesn’t work the next day and there was too much to Joe Exotic to fit in a text message. The phone call starts as just that, Dean sprawling out about the bizzaro world that is apparently private exotic animal zoos and Cas listens attentively. He promises to watch the first two episodes to catch up with Dean, though he doesn’t sound pleased at the prospect of watching animals in mistreatment.

Their conversation meanders from there. Dean asks about Claire and hears about their escapades making mug cakes in the microwave. Cas asks about Sam and Dean tells him that some ex-girlfriend from Sam’s college days had reached out to “see how he was doing” and they’ve been texting non-stop since. (When he teased Sam about it, his brother had rolled his eyes and pointedly asked how Cas was doing which effectively shut Dean up.) 

Before long it’s after midnight and Dean recognizes a strange pause in Cas’s story about his brother as him covering up a yawn. With a fond smile held close to his chest, Dean insists, “All right. I think it’s bedtime. You gotta be up at real-people times tomorrow.”

Cas makes a noise that, were Dean less charitable, he would call a whine. It’s more adorable than it has any right to be. There’s the huff of a sigh and then, “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Dean says, catching himself at the last moment so he doesn’t say “tomorrow.” In all honestly, they will be talking tomorrow, but it feels presumptuous to say so.

“Hey,” Cas says, rough and close, just before hanging up. “Thank you, for calling. It was nice.”

Dean’s whole chest squeezes and for a moment he forgets language. “Yeah,” he finally manages. “Yeah, it was.”

*

He and Sam finally do have to go to the supermarket. They set out with masks and gloves and hand-sanitizer and wipes. There’s a brief debate over whether only one of them should go, and then a much longer debate over which one it should be before they eventually give up. If they divide and conquer they can be quick about things and hopefully not put anyone, or themselves, at any extra risk.

So they split up and comb through separate lists, and it’s not long before they collect back together, in the middle. Dean sorts his spoils from his basket into the cart and Sam makes a noise when he realizes that one of the items Dean has is a package of diapers.

“Uh. Something you need to tell me?” Sam asks, pointing.

Dean glances and stares stupidly for a moment. A deep blush rises to his face as he directs them toward one of the least catastrophic check-out lines. “Cas mentioned that he was running low on diapers for Claire.”

Even beneath the mask, Sam’s wide grin is obvious.

“Shut up,” Dean demands.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Shut _up_. Look, it’s just--” Dean makes a noise of frustration and sets his shoulder back. “It doesn’t mean anything. He mentioned he was running low and it’s harder for him to do shopping and shit with a toddler in tow.”

Sam’s smile softens and he bends to lean his elbows against the cart handle. “That makes sense,” he says and any hint of teasing is gone from his voice.

Dean doesn’t respond, just stands stock still, facing forward, waiting for the line to move.

“Dude. It’s okay if it _does_ mean something.”

Dean’s shoulders catch at that, but he still doesn’t respond. “So we have to swing by Cas’s place to leave it on the porch."

“Right,” Sam agrees.

It’s not until their turn at the check-out that Sam sees Dean has also added a pack of sidewalk chalk to their groceries. He’s barely opened his mouth before Dean demands, “ _Shut up_.”

*

Dean comes home snappy and snarky and generally full of piss and vinegar. He gives Sam shit for nothing and Sam just raises his eyebrows at him.

“What the fuck, man?”

Dean has an angry retort half-way out of his mouth before he thinks better of it. He breathes deep, twice, and then scrubs at his face. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Overheard one of those...fucking press conferences and I just…” He can’t put into words the anger that’s been roiling at the pit of his stomach. The fear that slops under it, like a living thing, and the need to _do something_.

“Dude,” Sam says, his tone entirely different now, face open in sympathy. “I’m sorry. Can I…” He rocks on his heels, uncertain. “Do you wanna watch Pitch Perfect?” he asks with a helpless little smile. 

Dean laughs, appreciates the effort. Pitch Perfect is his go-to, feel-good pick-me-up movie, though he doesn’t often admit it outloud. “No, that’s okay.”

“Do you wanna watch old Jeopardy episodes and pick some losers?” Sam asks, trying another one of Dean’s tried and true mood elevators. That had been the move when they were little. Sammy was an anxious kid and watching Jeopardy made him nervous. Until Dean taught him to pick for a contestant he wanted to lose and root for that to happen.

“Nah. I think I’m just gonna...grab a nap, actually.” Dean scuffs his hair up and then sideways. Sam offers a thin smile and nods and it’s not long before Dean is showered, pajama-ed and in bed. After tossing and turning a bit he admits he’s too wired to sleep. After thirty seconds of browsing through Netflix, he tosses the laptop aside and goes for his phone.

Before he can think better of it, Cas’s number is ringing through.

If Cas is surprised to hear from him this early, he doesn’t say so. Dean doesn’t want to talk, not right away, and so instead he asks and asks. Prompts Cas. Listens as Cas recounts a dream that Claire had and about the book they read that morning. Cas talks about the work he has to get done and the decrease in donations their foundation has gotten lately. Cas talks about the fourth episode of Tiger King that they had watched the other night, using some app that synced their Netflix screens so they could watch together, texting reactions throughout. Cas talks about the research-hole he had fallen down, about exotic animal legislation and then Oklahoma itself. He talks about his brother, Gabriel, offering to do grocery shopping for him and then he thanks Dean, again, profusely, for the emergency diaper-and-chalk delivery. 

And finally, Cas asks, “Did you wanna talk about what’s wrong, or not?” His tone is gentle, earnest. He’s genuine asking and Dean has the feeling that if he said that he didn’t, that would be the end of it.

But the thing is, after almost an hour of listening to Cas, to letting his warm, rich voice wash over him, he does want to talk.

“I don’t wanna bring your morning down,” Dean says. “Just...accidentally tuned into some press conference and got angry at all the…” He can feel it, again, the strange anger. Something in it feels wrong, close to ego, close to selfishness, and it cuts Dean’s voice off in his chest.

Cas waits a moment and then, once it’s clear that Dean isn’t going to say more, asks. “What got you angry?”

“It’s just that…” Dean sighs and passes a hand through his hair. “I’m not a hero or whatever, and I don’t mean that to be modest, like…” He swallows, a little shakily. His door is closed, he knows that, and Sammy is probably engrossed in his work, but he still double-checks. Still doesn’t want to be overheard admitting this. “I’m just doing my job and it’s not right that it’s like this. I don’t want it to be like this. I want to go back to my job, before. No one in the buses or the ERs or wherever, we’re not calling ourselves heroes. We’re fucking...being martyred.”

“I know it’s been...exceptionally hard on you,” Cas says.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s been...fucking-- And then you turn on the television and shit and they’re calling us heroes and all and I mean, like, I appreciate that people...appreciate it, or whatever. I can appreciate the applause breaks and the donated coffee all that shit, that’s great. But when I hear that fucking guy from his podium like. He doesn’t get to call me a hero. Not when he has the power, had the power…” Dean stops and shakes his head. Politics really aren’t his thing. He’s always had his moral stance but beyond that, he doesn’t engage beyond his civil duty.

Except with all this happening, his occupation has been politicized.

“I just…” Dean closes his eyes and, into the silence, admits, “I just want a break.”

“You more than deserve one,” comes Cas’s immediate encouragement. “And you’re allowed to say that, to feel that.” The rush of a sigh rustles through their connection. “I wish there were some way I could help.”

Before he can stop himself, Dean is saying, “You do. I mean, this does.” It’s one of the sappier things he’s said but he can’t find any space to regret it. Especially not since it’s true.

“I’m glad for that, at least,” Cas says, warm and close. “You should sleep, Dean.”

Dean glances at the clock and winces a little. “Yeah, I should.” 

They say their goodbyes and hang up and when Dean flicks his light off, he finds himself drowsy and relaxed. Before passing out, he opens his text conversation with Cas and taps out a quick “Hey man, thanks.”

Just before he falls asleep, Cas’s “My pleasure” comes through.

*

“Dude. Once all this is over, we’re road-tripping to Oklahoma and I’m… I dunno. Beating him up. Or rescuing all those tigers. Or something.” Dean is sprawled out in bed, credits rolling on the fifth episode of Tiger King.

“Instead, why don’t you just try and donate money to some good, reputable wildlife conservation funds,” Cas suggests drily. Which, he would. The guy works for a non-profit, of course he goes for the practical suggestion.

“All right, well, I’ll do that too. But I still wanna beat up Joe Exotic. And that other guy. The cult guy, in South Carolina.”

“Bhagavan Antle,” Cas says, tone loaded with displeasure.

“God bless you,” Dean jokes.

Softly, after a moment, Cas comments, “You’re in a good mood.”

“No, I’m not,” Dean counters playfully, “didn’t you hear me? Vigilante mission to Oklahoma.”

A laugh comes over the line. “Yes, I heard you. But you sound less...worn down than you did this morning.”

Dean is quiet, considering that. He does feel better, now, a little lighter. “Well, I mean. I hate this show because of, like, what it is but it’s also...comforting? Not the content, really just like…” He sighs a little and laughs at the end of it. “It’s so fucking bizarre, right? So outlandish. For that hour or whatever, I almost completely forget that, like, there’s a real world. It feels totally separate to what’s happening, the job, all that.”

“I’m glad it can be an escape for you,” Cas says. His voice is low and close and warm and Dean faintly aches to be near him, next to him.

Dean inhales deep, holds it, and then lets it out in a rush. “Talking to you don’t hurt, either,” he says, softly but sure that Cas can still hear him across the line.  
At least, he hopes so, because no response comes for a few beats.

“I’m very glad for that too,” Cas finally replies and fuck, Dean aches to be near him, next to him.

Dean clears his throat, shuffles on his bed a little. “Do you wanna watch another episode?” he asks, mumbling a little and waking his computer up with one hand.

Cas sounds amused when he answers with a calm, “Yes, Dean, I’d like that.”

So they roll into the penultimate episode and Dean makes his typical comments about Jeff Lowe’s ever-present Oakley hat and Cas goes off on a rant about the casual misogyny inherent in it all and it’s almost normal. If Dean closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that Cas is sitting next to him, carding a hand through Dean’s hair, maybe.

When the episode ends, Dean is drowsy and halfway to falling asleep. Cas’s voice is hushed to not wake Claire and it only lulls Dean closer to sleep.

“Hey,” he mumbles into a stretch of comfortable quiet. “When all this is over and all, I’m going to take you out.”

Cas makes a soft, pleased noise across the line. “When all this is over, _I’m_ going to take _you_ out.”

That makes Dean laugh and turn his face into his pillow. “Yeah, that too.”

“But first, you have to sleep,” Cas hums.

Dean gives a bratty whine at the back of his throat but he complies, “Okay. Good night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay! this one took awhile because i just...kept adding things. i'm not terribly pleased with it but it felt like it needed to be put out into the world.  
> please tell me what you think!


	4. Meeting the Man You're Already Dating and other oddities of a post-quarantine life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas finally get their date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have any excuses for why this took so long other than [waves hand to indicate everything].

Dean isn’t nervous, because that would be stupid. It’s just a strange situation he’s in, and so he’s reacting to that in a completely rational manner. He's not _nervous_.

“This feels weird, man,” Dean comments and, for the fifth time, paces from the kitchen back to the living room. There, Sam is sitting, engrossed in his phone, and Jo is helping herself to their beer and thumbing through their Netflix.

“I imagine it would be a little weird, meeting the person you’ve been dating for over a month for the first time,” Sam says, not even looking up from his screen. Dean knows he’s texting Eileen, his ex from college, the one he reconnected with in all this and who likely wouldn’t be an “ex” for very much longer. And Dean would tease him about that except, well: pot, kettle.

Instead, he just fits his brother with a glare and mumbles, “We’re not dating.”

Jo chimes in, “Dude. You’re a little bit dating.”

There’s a long pause at that, the only sound in the apartment the electronic clicking of Jo swiping from one show to the next on Netflix.

“Okay,” Dean says after a sigh. “Okay, we’re a little bit dating.” Sam and Jo laugh and high-five each other without looking. Dean glares again. “Why are you even here, Joanna Beth?”

“Because after almost three months of being cooped up with my mother, even your sorry ass is better company.” Her eyes are bright and affectionate, though, when she grins up at him.

And it’s nice. Dean won’t admit it because he has a reputation to maintain, but, God, is it nice to be able to do this again. To see the people he cares about, up close and in person. And it’s very, very nice that he gets to leave his apartment and drive to Cas’s house and take the guy out on a date.

Or, at least, it would be, if Dean could get over his nerves. 

“Dude.” Sam is leveling him with quite the unimpressed look. “Last week, the two of you were on Facetime for almost three hours. It’s gonna be awkward and silly and then you’re gonna get back to being yourselves and it’ll be fine.”

Despite the truly annoyed tone to Sam’s words, they do manage to loosen Dean’s spine. His baby brother is right. And maybe if he just accepted that it would be a little weird at first and just breathed through it…

“It’s gonna be fine,” he chants back to himself, under his breath but not quiet enough, apparently, because Jo and Sam both roll their eyes.

“Great. Now get the fuck out of here.” Jo launches a pillow at him for good measure. He catches it, tosses it back and then makes for the door before she can retaliate.

*

Dean throws himself out of the car the minute it’s in park. Otherwise, he’ll end up sitting at the curb, freaking out again, and someone will call the cops on the strange man in the big black car having a mental breakdown. So he crosses the street and jogs up the little path to Cas’s front door and doesn’t give himself a moment to breathe, to think, to doubt. He reaches out and knocks on the door.

If he listens, he can hear the pitch of Claire’s voice coming from inside, somebody moving, and then, suddenly, there’s Cas.

Dean manages not to completely freeze up, but it’s near thing. “Hi,” he says, very dumbly. His eyes are set on the man in front of him. It’s a face he’s become more than familiar with, across Facetime calls, peeking in the corner of pictures of Claire, from the rare, self-conscious selfie that he’s sent as well. But to see him in person, barely two feet away… The only thing Dean can think, brilliantly, is that he _really_ wants to touch Cas’s hair.

And then that thought, all thoughts, is shoved off-line because Cas smiles. Wide and sunny and not made of nothing more than pixels and light. “Hello, Dean,” Cas replies and he opens the door a little wider. “Would you like to come in for a minute? I’m just saying goodbye to Claire.”

Dean steps in the threshold and suddenly he’s in the living room he’s seen in the background. There’s the couch Cas sprawled on as they watched the saga of Joe Exotic play out together. There’s the toddler-sized beanbag chair that Claire watched Bob Ross from. And there, at a similarly diminutive table, is the girl herself, already in her pajamas, looking up from a pile of crayons and a coloring book. Next to Claire crouches a woman with a short crop of dark hair and sweet eyes. She’s not even pretending not to be appraising Dean, head cocked to one side.

“This is Jody,” Cas introduces. Dean has heard about Jody over the past month or so, an old friend of Cas’s from college and Claire’s favorite babysitter when her Uncle Gabriel can’t be there. “And, of course, you’re familiar with Claire.”

Dean exchanges “hello”s and smiles with Jody and then crouches a little, facing Claire. The little girl peers up at Dean with faint recognition and that universal toddler uncertainty.

“Heya, Claire-bear.” Dean has a big smile for the girl who returns it, if somewhat shyly. Claire keeps one hand fisted around her green crayon, but the other offers a wave to Dean. “Got something for ya.” That gets Claire’s attention and drops the crayon, turning toward Dean fully. He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a bottle of bubble solution, bright yellow. 

Claire immediately lights up and reaches for the gift, shaking it gleefully. “Bubbles!” she shouts, giggling. “Thank you!” And then she’s dancing around Jody’s feet, asking if they can play with the bubbles before bedtime, please, please, Aunt Jody, please.

“That’s very kind of you,” Cas says as Dean rises back to his full height.

“I’m not above bribery,” Dean quips. His smile is soft, matching Cas’s. It takes him a minute to realize that they’re just doing that -- just standing there, smiling at each other and, okay, maybe a portion of that Facetime call that Sam mentioned earlier was spent similarly. Just Dean looking into the screen of his phone and Cas looking back and, like then, this doesn’t feel weird or awkward or off-balance. There’s a certain tension to it, but it’s a tension loaded with promise and interest and something hopeful, eager, slips through Dean's chest. Maybe, too, it wouldn't take a false-start for them to get to being themselves. Maybe it would just be as easy as this.

“Are you gonna go or just stand here staring at each other?” Jody’s playful comment wakes them up a little and Dean can feel his cheeks heating up but Cas has a patch of pink over his as well so at least they’re in this together.

“Right,” Cas says, clearing his throat. He kisses a distracted Claire on the top of the head, reminds her to be good for her Aunt Jody and then looks back to Dean.

And Dean… Dean thinks about that voice on the other end of the phone, the way his heart Pavlov’d into an uplift when his text tone chimed, the quiet intention in Cas’s voice when he said _Yes, Dean. I’d like that_. 

Dean smiles across and holds his hand out in the space between them. Cas doesn’t hesitate, he slides his hand into Dean’s and it’s a shudder-start, to be touching someone after so long of uncertainty and fear and boundaries. It’s an electric pulse to be touching Cas after so long of wanting it.

Cas is certainly blushing and so is Dean and when they meet eyes they both laugh, sheepish, at themselves, and then they step outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [screams like Misha in the season 14 bloopers when they finally finish the take]
> 
> hope you enjoyed these dumb, dumb idiots as much as i did writing them. hope, even more, that you and all of yours are safe in these times. as always, please let me know what you thought!
> 
> [rebloggable post on tumblr](https://sweatercas.tumblr.com/post/619604993179353088/most-of-us-strangers-chapter-4-meeting-the-man)


End file.
